


Mommy, Daddy, Papa, and Me

by Schwoozie



Series: And Baby Makes Four [8]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Zombies, Multi, Parenthood, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-29
Updated: 2015-12-31
Packaged: 2018-05-04 01:09:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5314340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schwoozie/pseuds/Schwoozie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Keeping their family situation a secret is getting harder and harder as Annie grows older. It's only a matter of time before they have to confront it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I forget who gave me this prompt, but whoever it was: Thank you!
> 
> This will probably be two chapters.
> 
> Warning for homophobia.

Beth doesn't think she's ever seen Daryl look as horrified as he did the day she brought home a minivan.

It wasn't that he didn't agree with the logic of it. How could he not? No sane man, especially not a mechanic, could argue that his ancient truck held up to child safety standards. And Rick's car was leased from the department, a group of people who wouldn't look too kindly on spit-up on the windows and cracker crumbs between the seats. They needed a new car. They needed a car that could fit all of them, plus Annie's inevitable friends, plus any of their own families that were still speaking to them.

So on Annie's first half-birthday, Beth drove home with a blue minivan and gave one of her boyfriends a heart attack.

Not to say the other one was too happy about it either.

But they've warmed up to it; never more so than the time Beth and Annie got into a fender bender and walked away without a scratch.

Besides, with everything that already separated Beth from the other moms, this was one thing to make everything seem more normal. Gave them a topic of conversation before PTA meetings, at least.

Not that Beth ever says much at those meetings. She goes to all of them, of course; goes and sits in the back and watches the mothers socialize with crackers and wine, the tiny group of fathers clustered in the corner like hyenas fending off a pride of lions. One of them she knows from the hospital, an EMT who covered for her the first time Annie got really sick. She likes him, and she talked to him a bit at the first meeting; but the looks of shock and disdain they got from the other mothers sent Beth scurrying to her corner, which she hasn't moved from since.

 _I wish Rick could come to those meetings_ , Beth thinks, leaning on the steering wheel as she waits for Annie to get out of school. _Daryl'd hate it, of course. But Rick'd be good there. He'd get things done instead of blabbing about manicures and cars all the time._

But of course, he couldn't come. Well, not _of course_ , she supposes; it's his name on the birth certificate, his name on Annie's student record. He has as much right to be there as any of the fathers. But they'd agreed early on that it was best Rick and Daryl spent as little time around the school as possible. Fewer questions, a better chance they could be interchangeably unobtrusive if one of them needed to get Annie in an emergency. It gives more equality to Daryl, too, so he doesn't feel pushed out of yet another part of Annie's life that Rick gets to partake in.

It's hard, though. It's hard to schedule her shifts around Annie's day, bringing her in before work and running her out on her lunch break. It's hard to know that half the mothers think she's a single parent, the other half that her partner's a deadbeat. It's hard to hear them talking about their husbands and homes and not chime in with stories of her own. How Daryl comes home every night and helps Annie with her science homework before he's even had a shower. How Beth called Rick in tears after a particularly bad day and came home to the two of them toting chocolate and massage oil. How annoyed she gets when they leave the toilet seat up or their beard hairs in the sink. How every few weeks they send Annie to spend the weekend with her grandfather and don't let Beth leave the bed until Hershel knocks on the front door Sunday night.

Beth talks to Maggie about all this, sometimes; but she's been having trouble conceiving, and Beth knows how much it hurts her to hear Beth speak about her own life, no matter how glad she is to see her little sister happy. She doesn't have many close friends at the hospital; not anyone she'd trust with this, at least. There's Rick and Daryl's friend Carol, but with her dead daughter Beth needs to tread carefully; there's Lori, but, well. The complications there are obvious.

Beth loves Rick and Daryl. She loves Annie. She loves her job and she loves her home, and she wouldn't trade any of it for the world.

It would be nice to have another person or two to share it with, though.

Beth huffs softly, looking at the time display on the dashboard. It's been nearly 20 minutes since the surge of students raced past, headed for their parents or the bus or the convenience store across the street. Annie's late to come out sometimes; gets preoccupied with friends, or helping a teacher.

It's never been this long, though, and the parking lot looks strange as it empties, the crowd of waiting parents growing smaller and smaller until it's only the usual suspects: the group of mothers sitting resignedly together on the benches, expecting their kids late almost every day because almost every day they're being reprimanded.

Annie's never misbehaved. Not once. She's quiet and shy and studious to a fault; the only complaint Beth's gotten from a teacher is that it's hard to drag her out of free reading time.

It shouldn't be taking this long.

Drawing in a deep breath, Beth pushes open the heavy door of her minivan, dropping the several inches to the ground and locking the door. She tucks her hands into the over-long sleeves of her sweater—Rick's sweater, really, one of the wool ones that look so nice over his dress shirts—and pushes her way through the chill fall wind.

She feels the mothers' gazes on her as she walks past them, and she struggles not to speed up, to keep her pace measured and even. She knows the proper etiquette would be to stop and say hello; but she's too worried, and too estranged from them anyway, to put herself in any sort of mentality to do that.

She enters the school and it's a ghost town.

It isn't any more empty than it is during parent-teacher conferences, but somehow the atmosphere now is more menacing; there is no enforced cheer put up for the parents, no feeling of anticipation. It just feels tired, and a little creepy, like some sleep deprived teacher is going to jump out and ax murder her.

Beth tries to shake off the shivers crawling down her spine and makes her way to Annie's classroom.

She's a few doors away when she hears the familiar voice of Annie's teacher, speaking in Instructor Mode.

“–can't use words like that, Annabel. Now they might go home and use them in front of their parents, or call other children those names. Do you want that to happen?”

“But they were mean to me first!”

Beth's steps speed up at the teary tone of her daughter's voice. Her heart is thundering when she turns into the doorway.

“They could have said it better, yes, but you did lie–”

“What's going on?”

Mrs. Levine looks up at the sound of Beth's voice. She's sitting behind her desk while Annie stands before it; Beth's heart clenches when she looks at Annie and her daughter ducks her head, posture slumped and ashamed.

“Annie?”

“Ms. Greene. Sorry for keeping Annabel late. We were just having a little talk.”

Beth steps into the room, watching the teacher warily. “About what?”

Mrs. Levine nods at Annie. “Annabel, could you wait in the hall for a moment? So I can talk to your mother?”

Annie makes no acknowledgement that she heard except to turn and make for the door. She doesn't even look at Beth when she passes her and shuts the door.

Beth stares after her daughter for a moment, then rounds on the teacher.

“Mrs. Levine, what is this?”

Mrs. Levine sighs, folding her hands on the desk. Beth's always felt a mild sort of dislike for Mrs. Levine. She seems like a perfectly competent teacher, and Annie always comes home excited about her lessons and what she's learned, but whenever Beth interacts with the woman, she feels like Mrs. Levine is looking down her nose at her, like she doesn't approve of the way Beth does things.

She wonders if it's the lack of a Mrs. before her name. She wonders if it's how young she looks, no more than half of her 27 years. Whatever it is, at least Beth's never gotten the sense that she's treated Annie any worse for it. But now Mrs. Levine is looking at her with sternness and not a little pity, and Beth feels her hackles begin to rise.

“Please sit,” Mrs. Levine says, gesturing towards one of the undersized desks in front of her. She waits until Beth begins moving before she continues. “Annabel had a... confrontation with several students today.”

Beth pauses, then lowers herself into the chair slowly, bracing herself on her hands. “What kind of confrontation?”

“I didn't hear all of it. But I do know she very loudly called them,” she grimaces, “'dickheads.'”

Beth winces. She remembers just the other day when she had walked into the living room to hear Daryl complaining to Rick about clients at work, Annie sitting at the kitchen table and watching them raptly. It only took a look from Beth to shut Daryl up and get Rick looking chagrined; but not before Daryl let out a few choice words that five year olds should not be privy to.

Rick told her later that, at bedtime, Annie asked what they meant; he'd replied that they were words that grownups said when they were upset, that they were not nice and she should try her best not to use them. Beth had smiled at him for that, and kissed Daryl's cheek when he mumbled an apology. She knows it isn't his fault. He grew up inundated with that kind of language; he'd never even thought of censoring himself, not until he had a daughter, and after spending the day around cops, Rick didn't notice the words until it was too late. Beth hadn't been angry; far from it. Annie would hear the words eventually anyway; it was better she learn about them in a way her parents can control.

But now Mrs. Levine has her gaze leveled on Beth, waiting for her to speak.

“I'm sorry about that,” Beth says. “She heard her dad saying that a few days ago.” Beth forces a laugh. “Must'a been trying it on for size.”

Mrs. Levine does not seem amused. Beth's meager smile drops.

“That leads me to the other issue,” Mrs. Levine says.

“Other issue?”

Mrs. Levine reaches into her desk, pulling out a sheet of construction paper. She holds it out, and after a moment Beth half-stands so she can reach it, plopping back into her chair with an _oof_.

Beth looks at the paper, and her stomach plummets.

The style of the piece is classic: little stick people, a little stick house, a smiling yellow sun in the sky. It's the kind of thing that littered Beth's fridge growing up; litters her fridge now, the art Annie makes and brings home. She's obsessed with animals; loves horses, especially after her grandpa let her ride one while he walked carefully to the side, holding her up, and most of her artwork is of herself on the farm, in various states.

This isn't the farm. It's the brownstone they live in, on the top floor with the Morales family below. The building is rendered in red and brown crayon, and beside it are four figures: the four of them. Labeled.

Mommy, Daddy, Papa, and me.

Part of her finds it unbearably cute, the stick figures colored in with their work clothes; Beth in her scrubs, Rick in his uniform, Daryl in his coveralls. Another part of her pounds painfully sweet as it's reminded of the life they've been able to build, how much she loves every single one of them.

But she can't pay attention to those parts now. Not with Mrs. Levine watching her carefully, expecting some sort of reaction.

“She's getting better,” Beth says, speaking through the thickness of her throat.

“Ms. Greene,” Mrs. Levine says, crossing her hands over each other. “This drawing made the other children very upset.”

This snaps Beth's head up, widens her eyes. “What does it have to do with them?”

“I hope I don't have to point out that Annabel has drawn two fathers.”

“So?”

Mrs. Levine levels her gaze. “Ms. Greene. This  _is_ Georgia.”

Beth's blood thrums in her ears. “And this is why she... she said what she said? Cause they were telling her she couldn't have two dads?”

“Does she?”

Beth swallows. “We all live together,” she says. “Since before Annie was born. That's what she calls them.”

“Where's her real father?”

“They _are_ her real fathers.” 

Mrs. Levine is quiet for several long moments, alternating between looking at Beth through her glasses and peering above the rims. Beth shifts in her seat, heart hammering, suddenly feeling no older than five herself.

“I hope that's something we can keep between us,” Mrs. Levine says.

Beth doesn't nod. She doesn't blink. She doesn't say anything. She slides as gracefully as she can from the minuscule desk and holds the drawing to her chest as she leaves the room.

Beth closes the door as quietly as she can, staring down at her shaking hand where it rests on the knob.

She feels like a fool. A damn fool, for being this shaken up. She and Daryl and Rick have known all along that there's a good chance this would come out. Annie's a kid, after all, and no matter how much they tell her that other families aren't like theirs, that people will be angry if they find out—she's a kid.

Beth raises her eyes from the doorknob, scans the hallways with a deepening knit in her brow. Annie was supposed to wait just outside the door; she isn't the type to wander off...

And then she sees her. Curled up in a bend of the hall, arms around her shins, face buried in her knees. Her little shoulders rise and fall in short staccato bursts. She trembles.

It rises in Beth like some sort of flaming phoenix spreading its wings, the anger. An anger Beth doesn't think she's ever felt before, almost frightening in its intensity, building and bursting like her skeleton is about to blast through her skin. Her hand tightens on the doorknob as if she could crush it between her fingers, yank the door open and go back inside and tell Mrs. Levine—

Annie's still crying. Alone on the floor of a school hallway because someone told her that her fathers aren't real.

She's a _kid_.

Beth takes in a sharp breath as she releases the knob. Clenches her hands to stop their trembling. Squeezes her eyes shut for a moment, just a moment, feels the anger recede for sadness and hurt to take its place, and then only concern, bright and hot.

It's what she needs, before she talks to Annie. Later, when she's alone with Rick and Daryl, she can be angry. She can rage and rail and sob out her frustrations, and they'll hold her through it all, and share it. But that isn't who she can be right now.

She puts it away.

She goes to her daughter.

She sees Annie stiffen as the sound of her footsteps draw closer, and by the time Beth stands before her, her little shoulders are motionless, even her breath being held. Beth worries her lip, then crouches, bracing herself with one hand on the floor.

“Annie? Sweetie?”

For a few long moments, she acts like she doesn't hear; then, slowly, she raises her eyes, tear-shined lashes peeking over the bumps of her knees.

Beth swallows her heartbreak and reaches forward to thumb a tear away. Annie ducks her head before Beth can reach her, though. She pauses with her hand in the air, hovering, before returning it to her side.

“Annie. Do you want to go home?”

Another hesitation; then, a tiny nod.

“Can I carry you?”

Annie sniffs, short and soft, burrowing her head deeper behind her knees. Beth sees her nod, though, hears her muffled “Yeah,” and doesn't hesitate before gathering Annie into her arms and pulling her forward. The little girl goes willingly, clutching Beth's shirt, burying her face in her neck. Beth can already feel the the tears and snot soaking her skin. She holds her daughter tighter.

“Let's go home.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beth gets Annie home, but just being there isn't enough to make either of them feel better. Luckily, their men aren't that far behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will _probably_ be a short epilogue. I'm planning on one anyway. In the meantime, have some sweet Greene-Dixon-Grimes family fluff :3
> 
> Warning for brief gendered slurs.

Beth usually doesn't mind coming home to an empty apartment. Sometimes, she even enjoys it. No matter how much she loves Rick and Daryl, two grown men take up a lot of space, and she appreciates her time alone.

Coming into the empty apartment today, though, the silence is deafening; even more so when Annie walks straight through the space, bypassing the snacks in the kitchen and the TV in the living room to head right for her room, take hold of the knob and close the door.

Beth stands silently in the entryway, purse in one hand, drawing in the other. The mothers on the benches had eyed her and Annie the entire walk to the car; she wouldn't be surprised if they tracked them all the way out of the parking lot.

Beth drops her bag on the kitchen counter, fishes out her phone. Both Rick and Daryl have replied to the text she sent them; that it wasn't an emergency, but to come home as soon as they could. Both of them could make it back within a few hours.

Beth lets herself smile at that. Tries to imagines half the fathers who make it to the PTA meetings cutting away from work to be home, without question.

The trying makes her tired, so she stops; thinks instead of the brownie recipe she had been eyeing the past few days. It seems as good a time as any to try it; and if anything could draw Annie out of her room, this could.

Beth shucks off her shoes, puts on her apron, and waits for her men to come home.

* * *

She's in motion before the lock has even finished turning, waiting only for the door to swing open before launching herself into Daryl's arms.

“Hey, girl, hey,” he says, wrapping himself around her with ease, holding one arm across her shoulders and the other bent up her back, the hand cradling her head. He loves touching her head, her hair, and she's told him before how nice it feels to have her skull in his big hand, pressed between his palm and his chest. He's still in his coveralls and he smells of engine grease and sweat and Beth buries her nose in his chest as she squeezes him tighter.

She senses movement behind Daryl, and pulls away just in time to see Rick come onto the landing. He looks between Beth's weary face and whatever expression Daryl must hold and doesn't hesitate before going to them and pulling Beth back into his chest too.

Beth closes her eyes and breathes in deep. The smell of them all around her, their bodies penning her in like penguins looking for warmth in deep winter, the tiny movements of their hands and chests as they touch her, touch each other, share whatever silent communication they need to while Beth tries to even her breathing. She's been stewing silently for the past hour between anger and hurt; even the brownies now bubbling happily in the oven haven't been enough to level her. But here, in her lovers' arms, she thinks she could be getting there.

She feels like she could stand here for hours, wrapped up in the two of them; but even in the press of their warmth, she can tell how cold it is in the hallway, and she doesn't want Annie to come out and see them all so distraught.

She draws away with reluctance, using their arms still around her to pull them all back through the apartment door. Rick shuts it behind them and they separate, although none go far; Daryl's hand has slipped down her arm to wrap around hers, and Rick steps back into her space to cup her cheek, press at the skin below her watering eye.

Beth giggles a little, and he smiles, leaning in to kiss her cheekbone while Daryl squeezes her hand.

“Sweet girl,” Rick says softly, still touching her face. “What's going on?”

Beth sobers at that.

She allows herself a moment more of indulgence, leaning so Daryl carries the majority of her weight on his broad chest, resting her ear against him to hear his heartbeat, strong and true. She looks between their equally concerned faces, and sighs before pulling herself together, taking both of their hands and drawing them towards the couch.

She waits until they're seated, sinking together with the depression between the cushions, then goes to the kitchen and returns with the drawing. She hands it over without a word.

She watches their faces as they study it. Rick glances up at her to see if she has anything to say before turning his attention to the paper; Daryl begins examining it right away, eyes eating up the surface like they would a forest floor.

She watches his face shift and change; first a small smile, recognizing his daughter's artwork, fading as he remembers Beth's distress; then a tight knit in his brow, his eyes darting between the two points Beth knew he would find: the names above his and Rick's heads.

Rick goes through the same process, albeit slower; by the time he breathes in sharply through his nose, Daryl is already pushing himself up from the sofa, walking to the strip of carpet before the bookcase where he has room to pace.

“Annie drew this in class?” Rick asks, his eyes flicking between Beth and Daryl just as Beth's move between Daryl and him. They both look to Beth as she nods, dropping down to perch on the edge of the coffee table.

“Yeah,” she says. “The kids saw it, and the teacher saw it. She had Annie stay behind after school to... talk.” She swallows. “I'm sure some of the kids have told their parents by now.” She forces a smile, albeit a weak one, meeting Rick's serious eyes. “The jig is up, I guess.”

“You're fuckin' right,” Daryl mutters, swaying in place, eyes darting around like he's looking for something to punch.

“What did they say to her?” Rick asks.

Beth draws in their attention with her breath, filling her lungs with what she has to say next. “That she was lying,” she says. “That she can't have two dads. That it ain't real.” The room is deathly silent as Beth exhales. “Mrs. Levine practically slapped me with a gag order.”

“What'd she say?” Daryl asks, voice grating.

“This is Georgia,” Beth says. “And I ought'a keep my mouth shut.”

Daryl curses loudly, taking a few steps back and forth while Rick continues looking at her, jaw clenching and unclenching.

“Annie heard all that?” Rick asks.

“Mrs. Levine had her leave the room,” Beth says. “But those doors ain't thick. I'm guessing she heard.”

Rick's nostrils flare. Daryl curses again. Beth looks at her hands in her lap where they're softly trembling.

“I've never seen her like this,” Beth says, voice thickening against her will. She hears Daryl still behind her. “She's barely said two words to me. Went straight to her room. When I check on her she's just lying in bed and it's like—“

A large hand covers the pair of hers. She looks up into Rick's eyes, his face fractured by the tears welling up behind her eyelids.

“Beth,” he says. “Don't go there.”

“What am I supposed to think?” Beth whispers, tears spilling down her cheeks. “She looks like someone's killed something inside of her and I don't know...”

“I'll kill these fucking kids,” Daryl says. Beth turns to look at him, and he looks deathly serious, trembling all over like a cat backed into a corner. “That fucking _bitch_ of a teacher too.”

“I wouldn't stop you,” Rick says. He's still holding Beth's hands, but his grip has gone white knuckled, tightened almost to the point of pain. Beth holds onto the discomfort, though, takes it for the anchor it is. She breathes in deeply through her nose, lets it out in a rush. “What do you wanna do, Beth? We could try the school board–”

Daryl snorts. “School board won't do shit,” he says, finally walking to the couch and dropping down beside Rick. Rick puts his free hand on Daryl's knee, squeezes it tight. “Bitch is right about one thing. This _is_ fucking Georgia. Half of them'd think Levine did the right thing, and the other half'd be out egging our cars before the meeting's through.”

“Gotta have some faith–“

“Don't gotta have faith in _nothin'_ ,” Daryl growls, moving his hand like he wants to throw Rick's hand off; seems to think better of it, and covers it with his own instead. Rick instantly flips his hand over so their fingers can intertwine.

“We knew this day was coming,” Rick says, looking between the two of them. “We'll take care of it.”

“Gotta take care of Annie first,” Beth says. The two nod in unison. Beth squashes down the absurd urge to cry. “What are we going to–“

“Papa?”

The three turn in the same motion, and there she is; still in her school clothes, clutching the one-eyed dog named Chester that her uncle Merle gave her when she was born. She looks contrite, almost scared; even more so when Rick peeks out from behind Daryl.

“Hey, L'il Bean,” Daryl says, voice completely changed from the fury of moments before, and Beth's eyes threaten to well over again at the gentleness in his tone. “Wanna c'mon over a minute?”

Annie hesitates, looking between Rick and Beth, gauging their respective moods before walking forward. Daryl grabs her as soon as he can reach, swinging her up onto his lap. Usually that would throw her into a fit of giggles, but today she sits silently, hugging Chester under her chin and not looking at any of them.

Beth meets eyes with Rick, then pulls at the coffee table so she's sitting closer, with her knees against Daryl's. Annie glances up at the movement, then goes back to hugging Chester, leaning into Daryl's touch when he begins to smooth some hair out of her face.

“Mommy was saying you had a hard time at school today,” Rick says, rubbing her knee with his thumb. “You wanna talk about it?”

Annie buries her face in Daryl's chest. They can all hear her muffled, “No.”

“Is it ok if we talk and you listen?” Beth asks.

They all wait, and several moments later she's nodding her head, raising an arm to wipe at her nose. Without a word Rick grabs the box of tissues from the coffee table and sets it on his leg within her reach.

“Ok,” Beth says, glancing at her men. “Annie, I wanna say first that you didn't do anything wrong. Ok? We aren't mad at you.”

“I got in trouble,” Annie whispers.

“There's different kinds of trouble,” Daryl says. He smirks. “Know what I was doing when I was your age?”

Rick rolls his eyes. “Daryl, don't encourage her.”

But no matter the tact of it, Daryl's tactic seems to have worked; Annie's pulled her face away from his chest to look up at him. Her body language is still shrunken, but less tense.

“What were you doing?

“Had a math teacher named Mr. Hudgens. Fricking hated my guts.”

“Why?”

Daryl glances at Beth, then back down at their daughter. “Didn't like my family. Thought I was good for nothing like the rest of them.”

Annie looks at him, perplexed. “But you _are_ good. Why didn't he know that?”

Daryl looks down at her, swallowing like his throat is thick. Beth puts her hand on his knee, smiling softly.

“Some people are like that, honey,” Rick says. “They judge you for things that don't matter cause it's easier than understanding the things that do.”

“But why?” Annie asks.

“People are schmucks.” Rick elbows Daryl and Beth raises her eyebrow. Daryl doesn't look chagrined in the least. “ _Most_ of 'em,” he amends, rolling his eyes. “And Mr. Hudgens was one of them.”

“What did he do?”

“Used to make me do problems on the board when he knew I didn't know how to do it. He could'a taught me, but he didn't. Didn't think I was worth it.”

“So what happened?”

Daryl smirks, puts his face very close to Annie's ear like he's telling her a secret. “I stole his car.”

She frowns at him. “You didn't have your driver's license, Papa.”

Rick chuckles, patting her knee. “That's my girl.”

Daryl snorts. “Yeah, well, didn't have your influence back then, Officer.” Rick flicks Daryl's ear, who moves his head in annoyance. Beth giggles. “ _Anyway_. Tryin'a say that what you did ain't nothing.”

“It was very sweet,” Beth says softly. “Drawing us like that, and standing up for it. That's strong, Annie.”

“Then why'd I get in trouble?”

Beth glances at Rick, who licks his lips before he begins. “We've talked about this before, right? Most people only have a mommy and a daddy. We're different, and not everyone's ok with that.”

“Why not?”

“They're assholes,” Daryl mutters.

“They don't understand,” Rick amends gently. “Enough people do something the same way, they think that's the only way it can be done.”

Annie sits for a minute, thinking hard, worrying her lip just like Beth does. “So... it's like when Willy eats worms? Everyone gets grossed out and angry cause they ain't used to doing it, but really it's ok?”

Beth purses her lips, trying not to laugh; she sees Rick and Daryl doing the same.

“Not quite, honey,” Beth says. “But if you wanna understand it like that, it's fine.”

“You come home with worms in your teeth, though, you're scrubbing that mouth with Dial for a week, girl,” Daryl says.

Annie scrunches up her face. “I don't wanna eat _worms_.”

“But Willy does,” Beth says. “And if his parents say it's ok, and it isn't hurting other people, it ain't nobody else's business.” Beth leans forward to smooth Annie's hair away from her face, making her look at her. “What did those kids say that got you so angry?”

Annie sniffs, looking at Rick and Daryl. Beth's heart clenches at the tears she sees building up in her eyes. “They said that I was making stuff up,” Annie says, little voice breaking. “That Daddy and Papa aren't real. And Mrs. Levine said it isn't good to lie but I _wasn't_ lying. She said to draw your family, and I _did_.”

“Yeah, you did,” Daryl says softly, stroking her hair.

“Then why'd I get punished? Cause I'm not supposed to have two daddies?”

Beth and Rick look at each other. Again, it's Daryl who answers.

“Yeah.”

Annie's quiet for a long time, frowning at Chester where he's clutched to her chest. Beth's gut feels tied in knots as she waits to hear what her daughter's thinking. The way Rick and Daryl begin to shift in their seats, she can tell they feel the same way.

When Annie speaks, it's so sudden that Rick and Beth jump. Daryl remains his stoic self, but his eyes sharpen on their daughter's head.

“That's stupid,” she says. “Who wants just _one_ dumb daddy?”

Rick smirks at Beth, mouth crooked behind his beard. “Not your mama, that's for sure.”

Beth kicks him, and Daryl too when he snorts.

Annie doesn't seem to notice. She's thinking again, and when she comes out of it she looks scared. “They're not gonna... they're not gonna take one of you away, are they? Or take me away? I don't want to–“

“Oh, honey, no,” Beth says, taking hold of her hand. She waits until she's looking at her before nodding at Rick. “Daddy's a police officer, remember? He'll protect us. Him and all his friends.”

Rick nods. “Nothing's gonna happen to us.”

“We'll kill anyone tries to get at you,” Daryl rumbles.

Beth thinks of reprimanding him; but seeing Annie's expression, looking up at her papa, she decides she doesn't feel all that different.

“In a heartbeat,” Rick says. He looks at Beth, who nods. Not different at all, in fact.

Annie looks around at the three of them, working things out in her quiet way. Her eyes land on Beth last. “What do I do, then?” she asks. “On Monday. People'll ask, or they won't talk to me, or...”

Beth looks at Rick. She looks at Daryl. She thinks of the PTA meeting the following night. She thinks of the mothers and their glares and the fathers in their corner, and she feels something like an army march building in her heart.

“We'll take care of it,” Beth says.

“And if anyone gives you a hard time, you'll let us know,” Rick says. “We'll talk to their parents. You don't have to worry about any of this.”

“And you remember what I taught you, right?” Daryl asks, leaning down so he can see her face.

A smile climbs up Annie's cheeks for the first time all day. “Talk shit, get hit?”

Rick snorts and Beth rolls her eyes—but to see the two of them, such reticent people grinning at each other—a little obscenity is worth it.

“C'mon,” Beth says, leaning forward to kiss Annie's forehead before standing and putting her hands on her hips. “I got a bowl all full of brownie batter. You know anyone who wants to help me deal with that?”

Annie grins again, showing the gap where her first baby tooth fell out, making her cheeks crinkle.

“Me!” she says. “And Chester.”

“Well, I don't know if brownie batter is so good for Chester's tummy,” Beth says, lifting Annie off Daryl's lap to carry her to the kitchen. “Maybe he can help with the sprinkles, how about that?”

She doesn't turn around, but she can sense Daryl and Rick trailing them into the kitchen; can hear them talking softly, too softly for her or Annie to hear. It makes her smile falter a little, remembering what they have to deal with.

But looking at Annie—brown hair in wisps around her face, cheeks pink with excitement as she clambers up the bar stool to get closer to the mixing bowl, finger stubby and small as it reaches inside to scoop up a hunk of chocolate—Beth decides to take some time off from caring. Just a little while.

She relaxes back instantly when she feels two warm bodies press up behind her, trusting them to hold her as she drops against them. Their arms come around her waist and around each other, one man on each shoulder as they watch Annie proceed to lick the bowl clean.

“You know what we gotta do, right?” Rick asks.

Beth nods, smile faltering. “Yeah. Yeah I do.”

“I ain't the only one scared shitless, right?” Daryl asks.

Beth feels Rick's chin lift from her shoulder; hears the sound as he kisses Daryl's cheek, smiles when he does the same to Beth's neck before returning to his perch. “Definitely not,” he says. Beth leans into him, feels his beard scratch her temple, lifts a few inches when he breathes in deep. “It's worth it,” Rick says.

“It's worth it,” Daryl says.

“It's worth it,” Beth whispers.

For the three of them, the love they share, for the little girl in the kitchen with them—it's worth it. Every little bit.

 


End file.
